Shutter Island has the recipe for success. It has a legendary director at the helm Martin Scorsese (Goodfellas, The Departed) and it stars his current go-to guy Leonardo DiCaprio, who might be giving his best performance to date. If it’s not Leo’s best, it’s definitely his most complex. Based on Dennis Lehane’s (Mystic River, Gone Baby Gone) novel of the same name, Marty and Leo take us on another cinematic ride. With all those ingredients, it should be a masterpiece right?

Shutter Island is an excellent film, let me say that up front. It is well acted and well directed, but times it doesn’t feel like Leonardo DiCaprio and Martin Scorsese; it felt like it could easily be Jimmy Stewart and Alfred Hitchcock. The way it’s shot is reminiscent of the 1950’s from the music to the atmosphere. But there are a lot of scenes that seem to over stay their welcome. Whether they’re in a cave or talking to a prisoner, they just stay long enough for your mind to wander. It’s not a scary film even though scary and disturbing things happen throughout. Somehow Scorsese strings it all together to make a fine piece of work.

However, there is something wrong with Shutter Island but I can’t put my finger on it. At times I think it’s pacing, but the pace of the film adds to the mental aspect, and I don’t think the film would be so successful if it were any shorter. Every time I think of something wrong with the movie, I find something to prove me wrong.

The film is set in 1954 in which federal marshals Teddy Daniels (DiCaprio) and Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo) are sent to Ashecliffe mental hospital on Shutter Island to investigate the disappearance of a patient. Along the way, we see into Teddy’s past concerning his wife and his duty during World War II (which makes think, “Where’s that WWII picture at Marty?”). Ben Kingsley plays Dr. Cawley, that traditional character who feeds the main character and audience the information. The ending is a predictable mind boggler but after much thought and debate, it does hold up and make sense as a great thriller.

Shutter Island is a movie that you need to soak in. It has an ending you’ll be talking about for a while after, and hopefully discovering as you do. It’s not as good as The Departed, my personal Scorsese favorite, but it’s definitely a picture you shouldn’t miss; especially with all the crap that is usually shoveled into January and February.

By J. Edwards

An old man gingerly walks towards the frame as the trees stand alone. Then, the roots and leaves mirrored by an empty home that has spawned such a brooding and yet  eerily prophetic feeling. A voice tells us of demons, in words so soft and pure. And all the while the wind is silent and bids farewell. A structure mired in peaceful contentedness is described that does not suit the tyrant of legend who now tells such tales. The heated little upstart that is now so far removed from the shell that remains. He epitomizes the very concepts that brought him the fame he now shies away from and, all the while, the waves continue to crash on the island that he himself constructed so long ago. Now, come those who long to remember.

With Bergman Island, Marie Nyrerod puts a face to a Bergman, far removed from the man known worldwide as one of the premiere auteurs whose career spanned over six decades. A painful image of the master in a rare moment of peace before the final wave crashes upon the very same island that now floats in its own mythical status. Even with it’s obvious admiration for Bergman, Nyreod’s homage is not without its faults. To put Ingmar Bergman upon a pedestal is not a difficult task for the many who have come to respect and admire his lifetime of creativity. Though to treat his life and career as flawless seems to be the premiere stumbling block of those who attempt to shed light upon him.
As a documentarian, Nyrerod opts to allow the aging Bergman to wander amongst his own thoughts, simultaneously allowing herself to be freed from the bonds of documentary filmmaking through his own ever winding tales. Her failure as a filmmaker is overshadowed by the sheer force of the memories being relived. There are few questions asked of any weight, and yet answers are given that transcend the desired result. There is no cinematography to speak of, and yet the unmistakable beauty of the island shines through with the picture perfect clarity allowed to modern day film. It is the island as we’ve seen it so many times before, and yet the island as we always knew it could be so we forget that a camera is present. Perhaps, that is the sign of a perfect cinematographic style, to separate the spectator from the scene. And yet, sadly, the more likely scenario is that, to many, a beautiful canvas needs no paint. Bergman never believed that.

The sunlight gleams from the trees and from the shaking hands of a man describing his youth. Age is apparent in both, and yet neither are brought into focus. The lack of direction that should be so unmistakably stark is dwarfed by the sheer power emanating from the focus of the frame. The questions are simplistic in the most juvenile way. The answers stray into a life of pain and anguish, hope, failure, desire, success, loss, and peace. They drag on and rescue those who ask from the burden of asking more.
Nyrerod becomes little more then a spectator in her own film, serving no purpose other then to allow Bergman a target for his wildly fantastical tales. Bergman, as he has always done, once again controls his entire surroundings and absentmindedly pays little heed to the groveling crowds enveloping him. He is ever the director, regardless of which side of the camera he occupies. While it would be easy to regard this as a lack of directorial control, Bergman’s frailty and ever active imagination cause it to take on an almost innocent appeal. He is clearly pleased to have a rare visitor at his burrow on Faro, as well as the chance to live once again in the moments so long ago on the very spot he now occupies. His tales so enrapture the viewer that all sins of the filmmaker are instantly forgotten. At one point in their conversation Bergman mutters “even when the film is complete, there is nobody i can show it to that will give me their honest opinion and say what they think. the rest is silence…”. A statement that is stunningly accurate for the document under scrutiny as well. It is as if Bergman can never escape the reality that he himself has created over so many years. He has become his characters and his stories, his life is now imitating art just as his art imitated his life. His age and weakness brings to mind the words of Antonius Block whilst staring into the face of death itself: “My flesh is afraid, but i am not.” and just like in the Seventh Seal, our hero is granted a moment of respite. A last glimpse of the waves of his quiet home, a last chance to look back through the years of success and pain, all the way to where it began so long ago with a single magic lantern.

First off, let me say that the title of this film refers to many things, but mainly my initial feel of the movie. I first came out of the theater wishing that there was a cash for clunkers deal for lemon comedies such as this one where you could upgrade to a better one; maybe a Judd Apatow flick (which is sort of the Honda of comedies: reasonable, reliable, and long lasting). Then, I got to work and realized: “I’m being a dick.” It should come as no surprise that someone working for magazine called the “elitist” and normally I wouldn’t care, but holding this film up to the likes of comedy greats was a mistake on my part. High-brow, artsy cunts like myself have a name and a place for guys like Tucker Max. We’re the ones protesting his book signings and some of the screenings. We’re the ones who can smell the still fresh scent of stale beer, axe, sluts, and stag the morning after in our dorms and judge you. Why shouldn’t we? The same self righteous judging is an infliction upon both sides (or should I say infection). The truth of the matter is: with this film, Tucker Max, though no poet Laureate has created a wordy, intelligent, and surprisingly well written comedy. But don’t get me wrong; aside from the script, there is very little in the way of goodness in this film.

Although, I’m pretty sure Tucker started the book on the premise that “anybody can write a fucking book” followed by a “Dude, do you remember that time…?”; the same cannot be said of a movie.  Being on the New York Times Bestseller list is great but when you’re on the same list as Lauren Conrad and Paris Hilton, it’s not saying much and made me wary of the film. That being said, the writing on this film is actually very well done. Each joke is earned, each character befitting of the comical situation (Slingblade aka Drew is the prize of this film), there’s no slapstick, no ridiculous premises in the gags and every extreme situation is precipitated by the fact that it’s swimming in truth (some a bit further in the deep end than others).

Now, for the direction. It definitely felt as though the actors were carrying the film themselves. What’s more the film was shot on digital; which isn’t a bad thing, but a few random instances of diffused light for comical effect mixed with oddly unaesthetic framing and even odder shot balances made this look like a film that’s more of a very well done senior thesis project out of a UCLA Grad school program than a major motion picture. I’d like to forgive these cinematic trespasses, but the budget for this film (as given by Tucker in the Q&A) is the exact same amount as Boondock Saints. Even in Bush dollars, this should be enough for an individual driven by creative impetus such as Tucker to make a large splash. Yes, that movie was god awful but it looked better. I suffered through it, however and the grad school effect slowly wears off as the writing seeps in and engrosses you into the film.

The truth is: this is a comedy for everybody. It’s not only for the fans but it’s something the fans could likely make themselves. The difference is: give Tucker a 50 million dollar budget and a little bit of guidance from some of the bigger guns and he would no doubt do a better job than a lot of the hacks out there. And if you’re a snob like me, you’ll be happy to pull your head out of your ass for this one. It may not be for a while, as I believe this first attempt from Mr. Max is destined for late night discovery on Showtime. But you will be drawn in to this film. There’s a reason why Tucker Max has been on Bestsellers for so long and it’s obvious in the writing of this film. While funny and even somewhat enlightening at times, the film suffers mostly from it’s overall direction. Still, I recommend you see the film because I believe most moviegoers will be able to get passed the aesthetic choices for this film. And should you get hooked on this film like so many others have the book, then welcome. The Cult of Tucker will welcome you with open arms… and a beer.

“It’s about a guy falling down from a skyscraper. As he falls floor by floor, he keeps telling himself: ‘So far, so good.’ But it’s not how you fall. It’s about how you land.” The first thing you amy think while hearing this is: “Why is he falling? And will he stop?” Then, suddenly a bombardment of black and white footage shot during riots in Paris set around the same time period as the movie. You immediately begin to forget the quote that just left you slightly confused. What you don’t realize is: you are now falling. Just as the protagonists and just as the world that they live in you are falling.

Mathieu comments in the documentary La Haine: 10 Years Later of the problem he faced making this film. “I always thought cinema should represent these young people in some way because there was nothing like that. French cinema is very personal. There are very few directors in France who tackle social problems.” However, in America around this very same time, filmmakers like Spike Lee and John Singleton were making their statements heard loud and clear for the societal and communal issues (one can even spot some of Lee’s signature dolly shots in the film). Kassovitz set out and succeeded in not only telling a story, but speaking for an entire community. And, I must say it hit me just as hard (if not harder) than some of those filmmakers films. I suppose more of it was a heartfelt sense of gratitude at the emulation of American culture. Well, simulation is more the word. Matthieu authentically and humbly depicts things that seem, to me, to have been ‘insider’ information in black American culture. Songs from groups like the GAP Band and Roger and Zapp, etc. Even some others that seemed to resonate soundly in French ghettos that would project just as easily in any other hood around urban populated areas; a kind of universal language of poverty.

As Vinz boasts about the encounter that would’ve equalled an early climax within the film wen Hubért knocks a cop flat on his back after knocking the gun from Vinz, we are treated to the first glimpse of arc in the character of endearment and strength that is Hubért. He grins a bit, but is shocked to see a billboard poster outside of the train window that shows a picture of Earth saying: “The World is Yours.” What happens within those two seconds of thought [between the satisfaction of having escaped the police, beaten the shit out of one, and walking (running) away to brag about it paired together with the seeming gratification of actions he feels are wrong morally by the all knowing universe] are a testament to how powerful the holy trinity of filmmaking (pace, speed, timing) along with the almighty triumvirate (direction, acting, and writing) can be.

The visuals in this film, though comparable to its influential ‘progenitors’, enter a whole new realm that even it predecessors and contemporaries could not achieve. It should be noted however, that many of these shots are not focused “within” the film. That is to say, the shots do not always correspond to the dramatic exposition of the story. The image is almost an entity in and of itself. Now, this is not entirely the case; in fact, I’d go as far enough to say the this comprises 50/40% of the film. And yet, Now, what comprises many of these shots is a sort of focus; a centering and pull into the characters. Think of the the shots in this film as theses further explaining a dissertation on the emotional being of the main characters. Each shot, coupled with “just right” dramatic characterization by the respective actors, details exactly what the atmosphere, feeling, and a sort of “been there” vibe. Another thing to look at in this film are the cultural references and references to other films abound; as it should be in a film so racked with American culture both diagetically and outside the scope of the film.

Lastly, I want to get into the effect of the film on the mind after the subconscious has revealed some of its minor workings into your mind. This is the feeling you get the day after you’ve seen a good film. A sort of secondary sense of revelation (after a primary sense of impression that can range from awful to awed). I’ve spoken already of the visual awe given in the film and the often striking dialogue, but what I didn’t realize at the time was the feeling. It seems very conceptual to mention a feeling in a written review, but there’s a resonance that beams out this film as a light bulb does to the darkness. Not the bulb itself, but the actual ‘glow’. When I woke up the next morning after seeing this film I felt perfectly normal, but that night there was a strange mental image of all the shots I had seen and the subtleties of each statement unwound in front of me like if the sun had opened up shining brightly in my eyes. I may sound like I’m going a bit far, but I’m quite proud (for Kassovitz) and quite sad (for myself) to say that this film took about a day to sink in. Anyone whose seen a film that truly challenged, entertained, and enlightened them at the same time will know how I feel.

La Haine is a film that may go unnoticed by the public en masse but will, for those willing, stand as a testament to the timelessness of good cinema. In the end, Kassovitz clarifies his statement in the beginning by stating the quote, in its revealed form; only after the film has unravelled (possibly because it may have seemed too pretentious if done otherwise). “It’s about society falling down floor by floor. As it falls, we keep telling ourself ‘so far, so good… so far, so good.’ It’s not how you fall that matters…it’s how you land”. If the same were to be said about the state of cinema as it is today: La Haine would be our tarp.

Decoding The Conformist

Bernardo Bertolucci’s Il Conformista is a masterpiece. After thirty-eight years, it is still one of the greatest films ever to grace the soft, white palette of the film screen. It holds within it a plethora of examples from each Independent film “code”. From the cultural (Bertolucci’s ties with Communist Party and the film’s commentary on Fascism), the artistic (Vittorio Storaro’s use of “painted frames” to illustrate the structure of the film frame can be used to “paint” beauty into a scene), narration (its use of social commentary, making it a sort of “political noir”), Cinematically (from the editing to the cinematography, to its direction), to the Intertextual (the film’s ties to Freud and Franz Kafka) Bertolucci uses everything in his power to create an atmosphere that is stunning, spellbinding, and elegant while still maintaining an elegance admired by so many filmmakers today.

The most outward statement is the use of cultural encoding to convey a message of the motives behind fascist supporters. Dottore Clerici is an upper-class citizen marrying a gorgeous middle-class woman with a job in the new government of Italy; is college educated and respected among his colleagues. What Clerici has that most of his peers do not have is a history; a history that includes sodomy, murder, and a family of the mentally unfit. Clerici does what any man would do: overcompensate. As Clerici proceeds in his ‘normal’ life the term itself (normal) takes on a whole new meaning. Is it ‘normal’ for a man to become a spy for a new government? Is it ‘normal’ for a man be ordered to kill a former teacher? Is it ‘normal for a man to want all of this just feel ‘normal’? The irony of the matter is: by wanting to be ‘normal’, Clerici is, in fact, just that; a normal man that just wants to fit in.
However, this is a light issue that is more obvious in Bertolucci’s masterpiece than it may be in the book. One scene that comes to mind that carries the film’s message forward in leaps is the scene in which Dottore throws a birthday party for his friend, Italo, whom is blind (blind Italy). The party is filled with comrades, all fascists, whom are also all blind. That’s right; they’re at a fascist party and everyone is blind. A more subtle portrayal of the book’s theme within the film is its portrayal of Dottore in its ending; ironically, this differs entirely from the novels end. At the end of the film, Dottore finds himself face to face with the limo driver that molested him as a child; the cause of all of his problems since (specifically the part about Dottore murdering him; this gave him the inate feeling of an assassin, prompting him to volunteer for the orders to kill his professor). The “discovery that his would be seducer an victim is still alive puts the final lie to every act Clerici has subsequently committed” (Bertolucci by Kolker, 103). All the while, anti-fascists parade through the colliseum where they stand. Clerici pushes his friend into the crowd. Here, as with the rest of the film, Clerici is a clear analogy to all fascists as cowards, opportunists, conformists, and closeted homosexuals (not exactly, but certainly in some cases).
One could easily argue against the similarities if Franz Kafka’s writings and that of Il Conformista based upon the principality of how many great minds may think alike. After all: both media deal with the redundancy of mindless bureaucratic systems in societies (Kafka’s stems from a natural awareness and dislike; while Bertolucci’s from his Communist sympathies), the loss of control in one’s life from an inexorable and invisible being (for K., the judges that stand at his trial; for Clerici, his uncontrollable feelings of wanting normalcy that stems from his homosexuality), and show women in overly dramatic ways. First off, one must understand how bureaucracies fit into these stories. In Italy, Fascism gave way to a new way of life. Under control of Mussolini, everyone was put under the eye of the government; you were being watched and you didn’t know it (under files in large, barren-yet-beautiful government buildings). In Austria, a young Franz Kafka works as a clerk in a law office; throughout his life he would work in various offices and filing rooms before taking an extensive interest in Judaism (The Life of Franz Kafka, The Trial, 267-271).
Although, seemingly very different somehow when reading The Trial, one cannot help but feel a sense of the same distance and coldness as portrayed in Bertolucci’s 1930’s Rome. The best example of any parallelism within these two works is the ending. Josef K. has stood in front of the panel of judges and spoken, he has never gone to trial, and knows not of what his actions are. One morning, he wakes up and puts on a black overcoat, black gloves, and probably slicks his hair back; two men arrive with black overcoats and top hats. They take him to a remote quarry and stab him to death, as K. screams out his verdict: “Like a dog!” In Il Conformista, Clerici does just the same. He is driven to a remote area in the woods where men in dark overcoats stab his old teacher, Professor Quadri, to death. The similarity does not lie within the death of the characters physically, but the death of Josef and Clerici metaphysically. This entire time K. has been fighting against something he could not see; he could not see face to face. Clerici had been fighting what he could see in his memory, but could not bare to see face to face. Both men remain silent as the eminent approaches. Clerici watches as his former mentor, his father figure is stabbed to death by his order. The same could be said of Josef K.; as his life has completely changed from the morning his trial began and is now ended by his own hand. As Kolker says in his interpretation of The Conformists: “ th central character is trapped in the illusions of his own paranoid gaze; thus making Clerici’s point of view is like that of Josef K. if the latter had an out-of-body experience. When Anna Quadri comes to Clerici’s window and sees that he is the cause of this and when Clerici has the power to save her (which was the motivation for the entire film) he cannot. And just as Josef K. screams out his last words, Clerici’s assisting agent proclaims the birth of Clerici as a true conformist and coward; that all of them should be murdered or killed at birth “Like a dog!”
Also, the use of women as an impetus for a non existent action is used heavily in both media. For instance, when Clerici meets Anna Quadri (Professor Quadri’s wife), there is an almost instant love that seems inspired, but random and from nothing. In Kafka’s tale, K. meets the mistress/caregiver of his lawyer. At this point in the story she has spoken to him only in business with his case and to offer service. Suddenly, he is asked to come into secret chambers with where, after only a brief introduction, she falls head over heels for him after he kisses her webbed fingers.

“Oh! You’ve kissed me!” Hastily, with open mouth, she climbed up his lap on her knees… “You’ve traded her for me, you see, now you’ve traded her for me after all!” (The Trial, 108)

The lawyer walks in soon after to proclaim that K. has destroyed his case by falling in love with his mistress; which may be of little consequence as it seems he is already headed in an irreversible direction in his case. The very same thing happens throughout Il Conformista as Clerici meets the various incarnations of Anna Quadri. Another large part of this film is the cinematography of Vittorio Storaro. Storaro’s approach to film is much like that of a painter’s, as Bertolucci states: “Storaro’s light is like that of Bacon’s” (Bertolucci by Bertolucci, 124).

Storaro derives much of his style from painting styles, like that of Bacon and Caravaggio (more specifically The Calling of St. Matthew, Il Conformista DVD Bonus Features). In many scenes, such as the introduction of Stefania Sandrelli’s character and the ‘Cave Scene’ (in which Clerici preaches to his teacher of the greatness of Plato’s story. Kolker states: “The force of this sequence lies both in its virtuoso display of lighting and camera placement (its stylistic rendering) and the subtle way in which it illuminates the Platonic allegory, the place of the allegory in the film and the way two men function as components of the allegory. The use of light and dark does not directly translate to film, however; as chiaroscuro is used primarily to “produce the effect of modeling” or to use the gradation of light and dark to show depth (Art Through the Ages, 873). What film does do with chiaroscuro is an equivalent to the very same; Film uses the intensity and value of light to show depth and value of a character or a scene. One could easily pull examples from real painters to illustrate this analogous effect. For instance, the ‘Cave Scene’ is a lot like Rembrandt’s Night Watch, in which the use of lighting dramatizes the scene in such a way to convey a certain message in a visual manner. Although, Storaro contributes more than just a painter’s hand; he also, “…manifests the elements of visual style, including the long, luxurious tracking shots, the rich coloring, the ability to register and make significant the textures of walls and buildings – the articulate environments which define the characters of the narrative.
Cinematically, another large part of Bertolucci’s work is that of editing.  Bertolucci had just finished one of his grand pieces, The Spider Strategem, by editing the piece himself. As Il Conformista was a higher budget, almost Hollywood, film he asked his producer/cousin Giovanni to give him a challenge. That challenge came in the form of Franco Arcalli; ‘Kim’ to his friends. Bertolucci says of Kim: “It was fascinating to watch Kim’s craftsman-like dexterity… I was astonished by the seeming casual manner he had of calculating rhythms and ties down to the last frame” (Bertolucci by Bertolucci, 73). Signor Arcalli’s manner of editing not only changed the way the film’s director’s view of editing, but also the film itself. “I shot the film in a manner that allowed me to tell the story chronologically,” Bertolucci says. “With a magnificent editor such as Kim, it’s possible to watch the structure of the movie materialize, piece by piece.”
Bertolucci’s film (whether as a statement against fascism, a retraction of Italy’s past, a piece of art, a piece of political noir, an allusion to Franz Kafka) remains one of the greatest masterpieces of film. Still heavily researched and greatly admired by filmmakers and scholars everywhere Il Conformista, O Coformista, The Conformist,  or whatever language the film is in Bertolucci’s work of art transcends all barriers of mental, linguistical, or political loyalties to remain a true testament to the immortality of art and a perfect candidate for a masterwork.

I enjoy watching films in which I met the lead actor, the director, and walk through and by all the locations in the movie. Just puts a smile on my face. Much like this film did.

Arlen Faber (Daniels) is a shut in bachelor who lives somewhere in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Represent. Faber has written a book that has sold (as the director tells me) 92 million copies. That can be only one of two things: a “Twilight” book or a book entitled “Me and God” which Faber wrote. This book seemed to redefine the religious world as we know it. It has been translated over and over and made into various diet books. On the eve of the 20th anniversary of this amazingly successful book, Faber remains hidden in his Old City townhouse. His spacious residence is littered with books he seems to have read, an abandoned piano that he doesn’t play (thus the abandoned), and a cabinet filled with movie monsters complete with everything from Dracula to Freddy Krueger.

After 20 years, Faber remained secretly hidden in his house. Not even his mailman (Tony Hale, aka Buster from “Arrested Development”) knows who he is, yet delivers packages with “Arlen Faber” on them every day. But after a crippling moment in which Faber pulls his back out, he must crawl to the local chiropractor where he meets Elizabeth. A man crippled in denial crawling for salvation perhaps? Elizabeth (Graham) is a single mom raising her little seven year old son. And when Faber wants to return some religious books that “don’t work”, he meets Kris (Pucci) who is fresh out of rehab for alcohol abuse. Kris seeks to find answers in the world and who other to go to than the answer man himself, Arlen Faber.

This dramedy is full of spiritual and human connection but it spoke to me about hiding and answers. Sometimes when you think you’re hiding from others, you really are hiding from yourself. And the answers don’t come from above, they come from each other.

The film also features more than minor roles from Olivia Thirlby (Juno) and Kat Dennings (Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist).
[Is it weird that Thirlby, Dennings and Hale all worked with Michael Cera recently?]

Let me say that this film is pretty good. John Hindman’s writing and directing debut is impressive. But not Webb (500 Days of Summer) or Jones (Moon) impressive. Sure I laughed, Daniels was great and the story was heartfelt but it still seemed a little limp compared to the other indie juggernauts I’ve seen. But I will say this about the flick, there moments, just moments of a new Woody Allen being born in director Hindman…

The Answer Man (2009)
starring Jeff Daniels, Lauren Graham, Lou Taylor Pucci, Olivia Thirlby, Kat Dennings
written and directed by John Hindman

Moon is a science-fiction feature that is fascinating to look at. The special effects done on an indie budget are spectacular, and as usual Sam Rockwell brings his A game.

In Duncan Jones’ writing and directing debut, Moon features Sam Bell (Rockwell) who is stationed on our very own luna with a one man mission. Our planet has done something along the lines of WALL*E in terms of trash and whatnot so there was a facility set up on the moon to harvest helium, send it back to Earth and somehow help the disaster. But that’s not the point. The point is that Bell is contracted to operate the moon base for three years and we meet our hero two weeks before his term is up. All he has to do is keep up his normal routine until his time’s up. What could go wrong?

Bell is assisted by a super-computer named GERTY (voiced by Kevin Spacey) who is Wal-Mart version of Hal from 2001: A Space Odyssey. GERTY runs Bell’s schedule telling him when to eat, when to send helium to Earth and even when he needs a haircut. Rockwell is really the only actor in the film. I would like to say he stole the show, but it’s hard to steal from anyone when your co-star is a robot voiced by the American Beauty narrator. But I really can’t think of another actor who could have pulled this off as well as Rockwell.

Duncan Jones delivers a recycled yet fresh look at space. Sure there are elements of 2001, Alien, and Blade Runner, but you haven’t seen a sci-fi movie like this before. You have no idea where it’s going but you feel a sense of comfort that Rockwell and Jones are leading you through it, even when they hit you with a twist in the first 20 minutes. Rockwell is just very impressive working by himself and once the big reveal occurs, he’s even better at it.

As much as I liked it though, Moon probably will only find a place among film buffs and independent geeks (so it found a place with me). This film won’t get a normal theatrical run until about mid-June ‘09 but I don’t see it being a smash at the box office. The film is very intimate and it might have trouble connecting with audiences on a larger scale. But don’t let that deter you from the mini-epicness that is Moon. With such a debut as this, I am very curious to what Jones can bring in the future. No pun intended.

Moon (2009)
starring Sam Rockwell
written by Nathan Parker and Duncan Jones
directed by Duncan Jones